


Maintaining Appearances, If Nothing Else...

by inkyandness



Category: Hot Guy P.I. (Webcomic)
Genre: Banter, Case Fic, Dress Up, It's For a Case, M/M, Pining, Touch-Starved, on a technicality - Freeform, the inherent eroticism of fixing another man's tie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:21:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26205604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkyandness/pseuds/inkyandness
Summary: The inherent homoeroticism of dressing up for a fancy party with your best friend, among other things, to maintain appearances, if nothing else...(Have you ever been held? Have you ever held someone? What is the smallest of touches, but the smallest pieces of safety we can give one another, and to ourselves?)
Relationships: Schmidt/Nando
Comments: 10
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

“Look, all I’m saying is that there used to be more train-based murders. Why do we always have to investigate a case at some gala or charity ball or mansion when we could be solving a murder on a train?”

Schmidt looked at him funny as he adjusted his cufflinks. “You’re saying that you want to solve a murder on the subway?”

No. That wasn’t what Nando was talking about in the slightest. But sure, he could follow this entirely new line of questioning.

From what Nando knew of the scenario, some rich old man, not wanting to spend too much money on things like security or... _ actual  _ private investigators, had hired them to prevent his assassination. He had reason to believe that one of his closest confidants was only attending the dinner party to murder him, with the belief that if he died, they’d get all of his assets.

There was a lot of reasons, it seemed, for those people to believe that they would be the ones to receive his fortune. Be they kids looking for a bigger inheritance, or business partners looking to nudge him out of the spotlight, or the potential that even the many other guests attending could be hired by one of his dearest friends with the intention of knocking his block off.

Nando wasn’t able to gather what spurred this idea on, but it was apparently “too late” for this man to cancel his giant company dinner party, despite his beliefs that he was at the center of a cat’s cradle of tangled threads. He supposed the wheels of business would always turn, even at times like this, and even when those particular threads were tying themselves tighter and tighter around his throat.

However, that party was still a week away from Thursday. Just what in the world were they doing here?

“Look, don’t take this personally-”

“You are about to make this very personal.”

“But, you dress like you’re a sad high schooler. Not in the way that you’re trying to make sadness your entire personality, but you only had five minutes to get ready before you missed the bus and all you had was a piece of burnt toast for breakfast.” Schmidt told him, succinctly. Nando was always a little impressed at how Schmidt could simultaneously be so worldly and complex about certain things, and yet still seem like he just got out of a cult hosted by Marc Jacobs not even a week or two ago, and was still trying, ever so subtly, to blend in with the rest of society.

“Wow, that was incredibly personal. You know I have a daughter to make those kinds of highly targeted statements, so you don’t have to?”

“My point is that I haven’t seen you in much formal wear. I don’t even know if you own any.”

_ “Do you want to see me in formal wear?”  _ was the question on Nando’s tongue, but that was less of a witty retort, and more of some kind of antagonistic flirting than anything else, so he didn’t say that.

“Hence, why we’re here.” Schmidt gestured vaguely at the shelves in the store. It was some kind of men’s fashion department store as far as Nando could tell. There might’ve been other sections, but Schmidt was rather insistent about where they needed to go, and so browsing seemed to be not on the table for the day’s activities.

“We don’t necessarily need to act like we’re rich, but we need to look the part. A $7 Kohls tie isn’t going to cut it.” Schmidt was idly going through suit coats with something that could only be read as clear disinterest.

“They’re $14.99.” Nando said, as if that was a defense. 

“They could be $12.99 for all I care, my point is that if we give these guys any reason to see us as anything but who we say we are, they  _ are _ going to take it.”

Schmidt clasped his arms behind his back and moved a few steps forward to the shop window as he continued his speech. Nando couldn’t help but wonder if he ever took a drama class or two in his time.

“We can play the role as well as we please, but what is an actor without his stage?”

Yup, theatre kid.

Nando sighed. 

“Okay, I wanted to clarify that you are  _ not  _ wrong with your statement, and I agree with you on a lot of it, but I’m still kind of wondering why we’re doing this now.”

“Hmm?”

“You know, today? Almost a week before anything’s going to be really happening?”

Schmidt tugged on his cufflinks as he looked up towards the ceiling. He was fidgeting quite a bit, so something had to be up, but Nando wasn’t precisely sure what it was. There was just the honest chance that Schmidt was just  _ that  _ excited about playing dress-up with his adult male co-worker, but… that couldn’t be  _ it,  _ right?

“Schmidt?”

He sighed and looked to Nando at last. 

“Mr. Richard Dowling....sent me the invitation to the event a couple of hours ago.”

Nando nodded along. “Yeah, we got the job a few hours ago.”

“Well, the invitation not only mandates strict prohibitions on wardrobe and whatnot, but, it also mentions...dancing.”

“What?

“Dancing. Like waltzing? You’re familiar?”

“I mean, I know what you’re saying but what? Waltzing? What is this,  _ The Great Gatsby? _ ”

“What does that have to do with anything? Did they waltz a lot in that book?”

“I don’t know, I just read the Sparknotes, but it does sound like a pretentious rich person thing to do.”

“I’ve never read it.”

“It’s mostly about pretentious rich people.”

“Hmm.”

Nando shrugged. “But, back on topic, what does that have to do with anything?”

Schmidt seemed to have lost the grip on his cufflink, and seemed to resort to pulling his gloves onto his hands in a strange sort of repetition. 

“I was thinking that if we got the clothes now, we might...have some time to learn the waltz...In the next week or so.”

Nando found himself a bit puzzled by this. There was something about this that felt a little convoluted. The way that he had planned to breeze through some of his favorite activities -- roasting Nando’s bad taste in fashion and showing off his much better taste -- just so that they could learn a dance together? That they may never even have to do at all? Did he really think that it would take a week for them to learn? Nando had to admit that he might not be the most… _ coordinated  _ person on the face of the Earth, but that didn’t mean he had two left feet, so why-

_ Oh. _

“I think this would look best.” Schmidt said, blandly, handing him a few hangers worth of clothes. “It won’t draw a lot of attention, but it still has something...very  _ you  _ about it. Go try it on.”

Nando shrugged. “Alright.” He looked uncomfortable, like a kid stuck back-to-school shopping with his mom. He began to walk towards the changing rooms. “By the way, don’t worry, I’m not the best dancer either, but we can figure it out together.” 

Schmidt eyed him wearily, but there seemed to be some fondness in his eyes. Not that Nando particularly noticed his eyes, but Schmidt seemed to at the very least appreciate the comment in his own silent way, which Nando could appreciate. 

“ _ We can figure it out together?”  _ how much lamer could that possibly sound?

\-----

_ Schmidt. You stupid homosexual. _

This was a phrase Schmidt found himself repeating particularly often. This was a phrase that Joey would often repeat to him, when he’d tell her about life, though he really didn’t think she had that much room to talk.

Still.

What was to be thought of in this moment but “ _ Schmidt. You stupid homosexual.” _

Schmidt was capable of being at least  _ somewhat  _ aware of how dense he could be, but even  _ he  _ didn’t think it would take a week to learn something as simple as the box-step. 

No.

It was more for him to...cope.

Yeah, sure, that’s what it was.

Schmidt couldn’t help but be consumed by the thought process that followed. To learn this dance, he was going to have to hold Nando’s _ hand _ , and possibly his  _ waist _ , in order to do it properly. And if Nando was going to do this dance properly, he was going to have to hold  _ his  _ hand as well.

…

T...touch.

It’s not that he wasn’t well-acquainted with the phenomenon of touch and being touched, it had just...been some time. He guessed.

Joey might give him a slap on the back or a jab in the arm, but that was just due to how naturally casual yet combative she was, and Schmidt was fine with it. But it wasn’t really what he was looking for.

Nando and him never touched when they didn’t have to. He didn’t think it was a conscious effort, more of just in the weirdly respectful way they tried to maintain each other’s boundaries. Nando seemed oddly aware of them, at the very least, and Schmidt tried to follow his example, guessing that what he was doing to make him comfortable, would also be how he’d like to be treated.

So, yeah. Schmidt knew what touch was and felt like, and had the bruises to prove that Joey could pack a wallop when he told an especially funny joke, but he and Nando just kind of...didn’t.

Which, hey, was fine, and would continue to be fine, if he wasn’t just so incredibly aware that being touched gently in any kind of way by Nando would make him shatter into a thousand pieces.

And now,

He was expected to  _ hold his hand  _ AND NOT DO THAT? Not fall apart in front of this man he still felt he knew so little about, but had practically known for lifetimes at a time at this point?

It wasn’t the  _ idea  _ of the touch itself, but the potential  _ kindness  _ and _ gentleness  _ behind it. It was about the idea of being held as if he was something precious, something worth holding. It was about turning something admired and adored back into something loved. Genuinely  _ loved.  _ Turning stone and marble back into flesh and blood.

Wow.

He really _was_ _this_ close to an actual crisis taking place in the men’s fashion section of this department store, as he stared at the bland checkered shirts in front of him -- as he had been for the past five minutes -- thanking his lucky stars that the only indication of his fraught and fleeing emotional state was that of his shaking hands.

God, this really was where he was at this point, huh. Almost 30 years old and this close to having an actual breakdown at the idea of so much as being touched by a person who lo...care...he associated with.

...

He still wasn’t in the mental state to cope with the fact that Nando thought he was just that much of a klutzy bitch that he’d need a week to learn, but he was sure he could see that ship passing past this one in the dark ocean of his mind. As soon as he stopped having his gay little meltdown, he  _ promised  _ himself that he’d still have the time to be outraged at the thought.

But that kind of thinking was for later, this was now.

And right  _ now  _ he needed to focus on...maintaining appearances, at the very least. 

Or at the very least find some better shirts to lose all sense of reality in front of. Geez, they were hideous. At the very least, Joey seemed to like this kind of thing, so maybe Nando would buy it as him gift-shopping, though, why Schmidt automatically assumed he wouldn’t buy it was...something that felt off, at least.

“I feel like I look like a mobster.” Nando said, suddenly. Schmidt looked up at the sound. “Not even a classy “Godfather”-styled mobster, like, low budget crime show mobster, it’s absurd-”

Nando would continue to talk about cop shows and trash television, but Schmidt wasn’t really listening. The suit he had picked was a dark purple -- the last thing he needed was something that would clash with his hair -- and it had a way of sitting to his figure in a way that simultaneously came off as loose and tight at the same time, which Schmidt had no idea how that really worked, but it did. He was wearing a black dress shirt that Nando had buttoned up to his neck, but left the collar uneven, which made him look like he was more in a rush than he obviously was, or just that oblivious about his appearance.

But, where was the necktie?

_ Oh. _

In his hands. 

He was pulling and tugging on it as he talked -- possibly to alleviate stress as a fidget or stim? Schmidt didn’t know for certain, but it certainly caught his attention -- as Schmidt approached him. 

“Yes, yes, cop shows encourage and normalize displays of systemic oppression and brute force against various groups of marginalized people, listen -- do you not know how to tie a tie?”

Nando seemed insulted at that, pulling the tie taut in his hands. Schmidt thought it was easier to focus on the tie than Nando’s...everything at this very moment in time. “Of course I can! It’s just, it’s been a while.”

“Mm.”

Schmidt grabbed the tie from Nando’s fingers, which released upon realizing what he was doing. He pulled it around his neck, and yanked harder on it, pretending not to notice the way their shoulders knocked into each other as he did so. 

Nando seemed fine with ignoring this as well, given he said nothing about the contact.

Schmidt pulled the knot taut. “There.”

Nando sighed, he scratched at the back of his head. “Well, I suppose I’ve already let my feelings be known about it, but what do you think?”

“Hmm?”

“How do I look?” Nando shrugged.

Schmidt took a step back. Schmidt took a second step back. Schmidt took a third step back.

There was no way to really describe it. Not at where they’re at in their relationship. Anything Schmidt said in this moment -- beautiful, handsome, awkward in the best way imaginable -- would drastically shift the trajectory of their friendship. Or it could do nothing at all, really. 

Schmidt wasn’t exactly ready to figure out which it might be, but he knew that if he had to keep staring at Nando, that he was going to start blushing (if he hadn’t already) and that would shift things  _ far  _ more than a simple compliment may.

Schmidt simply finger-gunned, and began walking. “I’m buying.” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,  _ WHAT!? _ ” Nando shouted, deeply confused, a blush rising to his face as he ran to keep up. 

Schmidt almost laughed, but fought to keep his face still. He was sure any kind of compliment he would’ve given him would’ve caused him to react in the same way, which filled him with something closer to mirth far more than it should’ve. In the end, it kind of felt like a win.

Besides, he still had a week to destroy this relationship, what was wrong with enjoying it while it lasted?

  
  



	2. Nando Knew Better, Or; The Box-Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was going to originally call this chapter "The One Where They Waltzed" but then I realized that that sounded suspiciously like a 'Friends' reference that I picked up purely from cultural osmosis and I hate that on principle.

They decided to meet over at Nando’s apartment.

For one, Nando had something closer to a dance floor, or at the very least, a wide open section of tile floor open of any furniture or potentially valuable possessions (AKA, what happens when you have as excitable and energetic a child as Nadia, even only part-time), and Nando had offered.

So who was Schmidt to say no to such an offer?

Nando’s apartment had a warmness to it that his did not possess, and although he had been there quite frequently, he still hadn’t gotten used to it. Maybe it came from the stability that clearly radiated from the place. Nando wasn’t that much older than him, but he certainly looked like he knew what he was doing. Maybe that was it.

Eh, it wasn’t Schmidt’s place to analyze his own thoughts. They’re his thoughts. He already has so many of them, what are the chances of him understanding half of them in the first place just from the sheer numbers alone? He could literally think about anything he wanted at any time and it wouldn’t necessarily substantiate anything about his character. Chicky nuggies. Rain boots. Furry kittens with fuzzy mittens. Shag carpeting.

“Okay, so, how do you want to do this? Because, you’ve been just kinda...staring at the ground for a while. I didn’t know if you were in a fugue state or-”

“Your carpet’s very ugly, I think I remember how it goes, or we can look it up online if necessary, what do you want to do?”

“Uh, first of all; rude. Second of all, do you... _ already  _ know how to waltz? How did you learn?” Nando asked.

Schmidt hesitated. “It’s...been a while.”

Nando almost laughed at that. “What, did you go to some fancy private school?”

Schmidt shrugged, like he didn’t know. But he did know, in fact, where he picked this up. But telling somebody that you learned a basic box-step waltz from a mixed media PBSKids show starring a fat dog was just a lot in the first place, and didn’t give off the same mysterious air of just shrugging your shoulders and letting your friend imagine an overly romanticized past of school uniforms and internalized inadequacy issues, so…

Nando snapped his fingers in front of his face.

“Are you alright?” He looked oddly concerned, his head tilted in a confused sort of way. “You’ve been zoning out a lot lately. If you’re not comfortable with this, it’s fine, we can just find a way to skip the waltz, I mean, what are the chances of us even-”

“No!” Schmidt waved his hands wildly, but then stopped and tucked one behind his hands to scratch, looking to the side to avoid his gaze. “I’m...I’m fine, just tired.”

Nando didn’t look like he was going to take this for an answer.

\------

It was a strange thing to see. It’s not like Schmidt was the most  _ open  _ person about how he was feeling, but he was also usually a bit more obvious. These were actually different things, believe it or not, and it all depended on Schmidt’s intent.

But, what was Schmidt’s intent now?

He was clearly thinking about something a lot, something that left him oblivious to the outside world, considering Nando had to repeat that he made coffee three times in a row for Schmidt to finally register it as a statement. And although Schmidt had denied that he didn’t want to waltz, he did seem rather...off about it.

_ Oh no. _

You’re making him  _ uncomfortable. _

You’re making him  _ uncomfortable  _ and he doesn’t want to say  _ anything  _ about it.

And he doesn’t want to say  _ anything  _ because you’re his  _ friend  _ and he wants to be  _ nice  _ to you.

_ AND  _ he’s just being  _ NICE  _ to you because he hasn’t  _ REALIZED  _ you’re a stupid  _ bisexual  _ with a  _ STUPID CRUSH  _ on him.

…

God fucking damn it.

\------

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize it before,” Nando said. Schmidt blinked at this in surprise. “But you’re allowed to say no-”

“What?”

“It’s no skin off-”

“ _ What?” _

“I don’t want to make you  _ uncomfortable-” _

“WHAT?” Schmidt yelled, deeply confused, somewhat wondering where Nando was going with the whole “skin off” thing, but knowing that there was a bigger crisis at hand. “Wait, you think I’m uncomfortable? With --” Schmidt made a vague hand gesture, hoping Nando would interpret it as he pleased, not necessarily putting any meaning behind it.

“Well, yeah? Why else would you be all --” Nando also made a vague hand gesture, hoping Schmidt would interpret it as “nervous and potentially off-put, in a way that makes me concerned about you as a friend, not necessarily as a doctor or psychiatrist.” “You’ve just been strange lately, and if this whole thing is why, then, you don’t have to do it.”

…

Oh.

_ Oh. _

_ Ohhhhhh. _

_ Nando, you naive little man.  _

Schmidt could’ve sworn he was mere seconds away from breaking out into something close to laughing and/or crying at the same time as this hilarious scenario brought him more grief than he knew what to do with. 

“No, no, no, no, no…I’m not uncomfortable. I’m…” Schmidt began to say, but as the grief brought on by the complete and utter naive stupidity of the situation was making it difficult to come up with a reasonable excuse for his behavior that wasn’t something along the lines of  _ “I am very deeply in love with you and if you hold my hand I WILL cry based on the pure sincerity of such an act and that is VERY difficult to deal with.” _

“Unless you want me to lead instead?”

\------

It was a gamble. 

It really,  _ really _ was.

But Nando was familiar with this behavior. At least, somewhat. He saw it in Nadia when she was little. 

When Nadia was nervous, or she’d lie, she’d get this kind of anxiety. One not necessarily relating to task that was put in front of her, but an anxiety nonetheless. Pinning it down was impossible when there were so many variables that could relate to it, and she’d usually deny anything was ever wrong in the first place. 

But then...Nando would ask her to act upon this confidence she claimed to have. 

_ “Oh, you didn’t break Mrs. Kowalski’s window? Then I’m sure she’d love to see us! I made cookies a few days ago, I’m sure she’d appreciate the treat.”  _

_ “Oh? You’re doing good in your geometry class? That’s great! Have fun at your party, then. I trust you.”  _

Nadia would confess soon afterwards to what was bothering her, or her wrongdoings, or whatever was on her shoulders that was burdening her for far too long. It always came out, whether she wanted it to or not.

He had to admit, the strategy could look a little tetch. It was like seeing her smoking and asking if she was ready to smoke the whole box -- NOT that he’d ever ask her to do  _ that,  _ god no. But, it could also take Nadia -- a child brought up with a strong moral compass -- quite a long time to confess what was bothering her. She was sobbing into elderly Mrs. Kowalski’s lap at the guilt she felt a half-hour  _ in  _ to Nando’s visit, and he had to pick her up at 11 after the guilt of failure that loomed over her head began to crush her to the point that not even a party with her best friends could resuscitate her.

_ But, _ the truth always came out.

It might be a little demeaning for Schmidt, to know that he was using the same parenting techniques he used on his  _ daughter  _ on him, but…what was the harm?  _ Really? _

“What?”

“Isn’t that what you’re trying to say? You’ve been trying to figure out how to ask me to lead the dance, but you should’ve just said something!”

Schmidt began laughing a little, a dry, cynical chuckle that was basically trying to say  _ “you don’t know what my world looks like.” _

And yeah, maybe Nando  _ doesn’t  _ know what Schmidt’s going through, or what his life is looking like at the moment. 

But he isn’t going to know if he doesn’t tell him.

“Nando, I-”

Nando proceeded to step closer to Schmidt. Too close, he’d usually say, if Nando leaned ever-so-slightly forward, their noses would touch. It didn’t exactly follow Nando’s usual strict rules about “personal space,” but he needed to get him to lower his defenses. Or, at the very least, confuse him. Schmidt looked startled by this.

“Nando, you-”

Nando proceeded to give the slightest head tilt, the universal sign of curiosity and cluelessness alike. It didn’t come  _ entirely  _ from a place of acting, he really  _ was _ curious about things, but it was such an obvious gesture. One Nando would never make under usual circumstances. He wondered if Schmidt would pick up on that.

“I-it’s, you need-”

Nando placed his hands on Schmidt’s shoulders. He flinched slightly at the sudden contact, but no indication that the contact was unpleasant or unwelcome came to pass. Schmidt seemed...frustrated. Maybe a little confused? Nando was certain that if Schmidt didn’t like what he was doing, he would’ve either said something or thrown him off by now. But he hasn’t. He didn’t. So...where were they?

Maybe the contact was more grounding than anything else. Sometimes when his wi- well, ex-wife, seemed to be having a hard time, or a rough day, or just some kind of anxiety attack, she said that having someone there to hold her...even something as insignificant as her hand, it helped. Nando also had friends in his past that would never let anyone touching them in such a state, saying that their touches hurt, or were just “too much” in a vague sense of the word. He wondered which one Schmidt was. 

Schmidt took a deep breath and sighed.

“Well, for one, if  _ you’re  _ so certain about leading, I need your dominant hand for something.” Schmidt said. His voice trembled slightly.

“For what?” Nando asked, already raising his hand, which Schmidt immediately began to hold. There seemed to be a slight tremor to it.

_ Oh. _

And he was meant to be the smart one.

“I need your other hand on my hip.”

“Why did it have to be my dominant hand specifically?” Nando asked, placing his hand on Schmidt’s waist.

“Works better for turns.” Schmidt sighed again. “Now this is a box-step waltz. It’s fairly simple in nature, the whole point is to make a box with your feet.”

Nando nodded, determined to keep eye contact for some reason.

“It’s easier if you look down the first couple of times.” Schmidt said, making the deliberate effort not to make eye contact, for whatever reason. “It goes basically like this; forward, right, back, left. Forward, right, back, left.”

Schmidt repeated it to him far more times than necessary, but Nando didn’t mind. It sounded far, far less like some kind of droning instruction manual that was telling him the most basic commands, but rather, like their own customized tempo. A rhythm that they made all their own, together. 

It was nice.

For a brief time, Nando found himself not feeling like himself. Not in a bad way, just in sort of a strange, undefined way. He knew his name, he knew who he was, but he felt like he had no past, no defining present nor presence. And he felt certain that Schmidt, in his mind, was the same.

It was like they were in their own little pocket of time. The waltz really is such an old dance. They could’ve been doing this a hundred years ago, two hundred years ago, three. They could’ve. And chances are people like them, _ men  _ like them, were. 

It was a nice thought.

But something about it felt distinctly alien. Almost wrong. 

They weren’t like these people, they weren’t like these men. 

This wasn’t fun, this wasn’t a moment they’d never forget, this wasn’t their enchanting evening under the stars. Nando wasn’t even certain if Schmidt was enjoying himself all that much. To Schmidt, this was probably nothing more than a loathsome chore. A slog.

He couldn’t fully enjoy the dance because of this, as he led Schmidt into more complicated spins and twirls across the room, he couldn’t help but feel like this was...nothing more than it was. It was what it said on the tin, and Nando should’ve known better to ask for something more than that.

This was the basic practice of a basic dance move that Schmidt needed to teach him in order for them to blend in at that decadent gala they were investigating -- notable for being the opposite of basic.

Schmidt wasn’t doing this because he liked him. any more than he liked doughnuts, or instagram likes, or dogs. 

He was doing it  _ all for the case. _

He should’ve known better.

\------

Nando seemed to getting the hand of this, far better than Schmidt did the first time he tried dancing it. Of course, having an actual  _ human  _ partner to do it with probably helped at least a _ little. _

His movements became more competent and he began to experiment with spins as they moved across the room, but his eyes seemed more glazed over and dream-like. Something Schmidt was unfamiliar with in Nando, but he had to admit that this scenario did sound like a dream he might’ve had when he was young and more romantic. The idea of dancing with your crush, alone, just the two of you as everything else fell away? It was like something out of a fairy tale! 

Something so kind and so long ago...was now his. 

He shouldn’t squander this opportunity. Who knew when he’d have this opportunity again?

He  _ had _ to take advantage of it.

Nando seemed to have the right idea, daydreaming away as they waltzed together in their own little world, with the minimal sounds of the outside world fading away more and more as they grew more and more confident with their dancing.

Nando knew better.

Better than he did, that was for sure.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to upload this yesterday, but I made myself sick because apparently skipping meals doesn’t make you more productive, it just makes you tired and sad. And skipping meals here and there for a week or so means that the Red Robin himself is going to punch you in the mcfucking gut and tell you you’re going to die, which: I did not know beforehand.
> 
> Anyhow, this whole chapter came from the minor anecdote that I learned the box-step from an episode of the iconic PBS Kids show “Fetch! With Ruff Ruffman.” You’d be shocked how much of the basic science and math concepts I learned from that show I’d then go on to use in high school.
> 
> This wasn’t meant to be...angsty? At the very end there? I’m just tired and sad, but I don’t even know if it reads as angst as much as that occasional bummer thought you get when you’re out hanging out with your friends and you accidentally kill the mood with the pure power of your bad vibes. That’s closer to what it is. Sorry!
> 
> Tumblr: juliastartoons.tumblr.com  
> Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/juliastartoons

**Author's Note:**

> I’M BACK! During July I took a really bad film class which took up most of my month back in July, which is why I wasn’t writing all that much, but I am back now, and that’s all that matters babey!!
> 
> This story was originally just going to be “the inherent eroticism of having to help your friend with their formal wear and now it’s become kind of a romantic tryst” but I realized that I could also throw “teaching your loved one to dance” into the mix, so I did, because there was nobody there to stop me from performing my dark acts.
> 
> Also YES, if Karina and Julia don’t expand Ladies at Law, I will do it myself. Joey is Schmidt’s roommate. She’s a little mean, is the kind of person to slap you on the back if you tell a funny joke, and wears flannel, which Schmidt kinda lowkey hates. This is what it feels like to be a god.
> 
> Tumblr: juliastartoons.tumblr.com  
> Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/juliastartoons


End file.
